


running with the wolves

by sleeplessmiles



Series: wilder mind [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Gen, Introspection, Wolves, spoilers for 3x01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-04-25 03:42:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4945447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeplessmiles/pseuds/sleeplessmiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma makes a friend. Said friend might just be an alien hellhound wolf... creature, but it's a friend nonetheless.</p><p>(Or, the story of how Jemma acquires a seven foot tall space wolf as a pet.)</p><p>Contains spoilers for episode 3x01.</p>
            </blockquote>





	running with the wolves

**Author's Note:**

> So yesterday on tumblr, I made a joking post about Jemma befriending some gigantic sort of alien hellhound wolf thing and it becoming like her guardian, since I'd imagine she could easily be the first living thing to show it kindness in a very long time. And then people embraced the idea, and the lovely Alex (qauke over on tumblr) drew THE cutest picture in existence of tiny Jemma cuddling up to this ginormous wolf, so I just had to write something to go along with it.
> 
> Which brings us to here!! I would call this crack, except canon literally dropped my darling onto an alien planet, so. Which of us is TRULY writing crack here? That's the real question.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!!

 

 

Of all the things that Jemma regrets about her current situation – such as apparently lacking the foresight to wear a sports bra at all times around the Playground – what she probably regrets the most is the brief period during which she’d ceased to keep track of the days.

She’d counted them initially, of course. It would have been remiss of her to neglect such a vital duty, especially when a rapid return to Earth seemed the likely conclusion to this impromptu trip of hers. But then the days had turned to weeks, the weeks into months, and her hope had started to dwindle. She'd hit some hard times, had stopped being as diligent as she'd have liked. She'd found it within herself to turn things around again, but by the time she'd regained her drive, she'd already lost her count of the days.

So at this point, Jemma hasn’t any idea of how long she’s been here, nor of how long she’s been running. How long she’s been hunted. 

All she knows is that she’s bloody sick of it. 

She’s nominally aware of what’s chasing her, naturally. The packs of alien wolves can be seen from miles off, their chilling cries carrying with the wind and causing Jemma to seize up with fear. For the most part, she’s able to leave a safe distance between herself and them. There’s a system, and as long as she sticks to it, she’ll be fine.

And she is.

Until the day she comes face-to-face with one of the beasts.

 

 

-

-

 

 

She’d overslept, which is a worrying enough occurrence in and of itself; she’s trained herself to sleep in smaller increments these days, and oversleeping speaks to levels of exhaustion she can barely even comprehend. The more pressing consequence, however, is that it means she’d missed the warning signs that a pack of wolves is approaching. So when she jolts back into sudden, aching consciousness, the bone chilling howls are closer than she’s allowed them in a very long time.

It’s troubling.

(Well, it’s _terrifying_ , actually, but she’s living in a constant state of terror these days and doesn’t really react to sudden spikes in the levels like she should. So “troubling” suits her just fine, for now.) 

Not even pausing to brush the dust off her clothes, Jemma grabs the makeshift pack she’d been using as a pillow, slings it over her shoulder, and takes off at a sprint. 

The thing is, she’s been anticipating a whole snarling pack of the alien wolf creatures, or if not those, then something else making quite a bit of noise. So she doesn’t expect to round the corner of a rocky outcrop and come face-to-face with one of the beasts.

And yet, that’s exactly what she does.

Skidding to a graceless stop, Jemma freezes, taking in the enormous creature that’s blocking her path and growling deep in its throat.

It’s –

Gosh, it’s just _magnificent._

She’d been close to the mark with her “wolf” evaluation, it would seem, as the seven foot tall creature snarling before her resembles a wolf more than any other creature she’s ever encountered. At the same time, however, there are features clearly setting it apart. A distinctly alien pattern runs along its back, the little bare patches in its fur creating curious markings. The rest of its fur is grey, incredibly light in sections but gradually getting darker until it’s nearly black around the muzzle and paws. She’d describe it as onyx, really, for how even the black seems to catch the dim light in strange and marvellous ways, leaving her utterly transfixed.

There’s almost a glow to the creature, too – reddish in colour, she thinks, although it’s possibly the whole thing is just a trick of the light.

Jemma’s completely taken aback. She hasn’t really observed any wolves back on Earth, not this close, and so she’s struck by the sheer majesty of this predator, the way the hunt is written into every line of its body.

And then she can’t focus on anything else outside of the crippling fear, because oh _God_ , this bloody alien wolf is going to eat her.

(What a way to go, she registers distantly: sucked into an alien rock, transported across the universe before eventually being consumed by a space dog. She expects it would be an entertaining obituary, if only anyone had any concept of what had become of her.)

Growls continue to rip from the wolf’s throat, menacing and bloodthirsty, and it remains in its semi-crouch as though it’s ready to pounce. But… it hasn’t.

It hasn’t pounced. 

Why hasn’t it attacked her yet?

Jemma follows its gaze, only to find that it’s looking directly at her belt – namely, at the small rodent-like creatures she has tied there, the end product of some strategically placed snares that she’d just about perfected.

Comprehension dawns.

‘Oh. Are you… hungry?’

It growls again at the sound of her voice, baring its – oh, _God_ – its massive, _massive_ fangs. Jemma’s mouth is completely dry at this point, and she thinks she might just be shaking as she slowly moves her hands to the dead creature hanging from her belt.

The tiny thing was going to be her dinner tonight, but truly, she’d prefer the wolf ate _it_ rather than _her._

Said wolf’s eyes are following her every motion now, carefully watching her hands, and while it’s still tensed, poised to attack, it seems almost… less aggressive? Is that possible?

No. She must be imagining things. It’s the exhaustion talking.

Outstretching her arm, she dangles the creature by its back legs, watching the wolf’s eyes fix upon it hungrily. Jemma quirks an eyebrow.

‘You quite like the look of that, don’t you?’

The wolf’s ears twitch, as though it’s actually listening to her, and Jemma feels the absurd impulse to smile. Because this is unbelievable. This is actually her life.

Screw smiling: she might actually _laugh_.

‘Mmm, yes, of course you do. Alright, well, how about you have this one… yes? How does that sound? On the house, just this once.’

 _Stop joking with the wolf, Jemma._ God. What’s she trying to do here: establish a rapport? 

The wolf still hasn’t rushed her, though, so Jemma dares to believe that this might actually be working. She tries not to let her hopes lift at the prospect of getting out of this in one piece, but truly, it’s a little difficult not to. Swallowing to calm herself (no easy task with her parched throat), she contemplates her next course of action.

It’s all about a distraction, isn’t it? If she can just distract the wolf with food, she might be able to buy herself a little time to escape. Not much, of course, and probably nowhere near enough, but it’ll be something.

And she’ll be damned if she doesn’t go out fighting. 

‘Alright,’ Jemma announces, ignoring the slight wavering quality to her voice. ‘I’m going to throw it to you now.’

She glances around the small space between them, wondering what her best chance might be. Perhaps if she throws it as far from the wolf as possible…? But then, she wouldn’t want to risk the wolf pursuing her instead of going after the rodent. 

Which is still highly likely.

Deciding there’s nothing for it, Jemma grits her teeth and throws the meat scrap into the space between them, watching as the wolf lunges for it almost instantly. The second it sinks its terrifying teeth into the rodent-like creature, Jemma turns and bolts – but not before the wolf looks up to meet her gaze, dead on.

(And surely – _surely_ – she imagined the gratitude in its eyes. Surely.)

 

 

-

-

 

 

If she allows her mind to linger on it for too long, Jemma would be tempted to call her escape from the wolf (alien? Hellhound?) something of a miracle. As it is, her very survival on this planet seems miraculous enough anyway, so she’s loath to attribute such a dramatic label to anything further. And it’s not as though she’s ever particularly believed in curses or jinxes (although she’s definitely re-evaluating her definition of the possible these days), but she’s certain that were her friend here, Skye would start crowing about “jinxing it” the second Jemma gave herself too much praise for making it this far.

Still. It seems like a pretty big accomplishment, so Jemma’s going to give herself a _little_ credit.

She’s more careful with her sleep after that, sleeping in shorter and shorter stretches each time. She knows that it can’t be good for her health. At the same time, she just doesn’t think she can deal with a repeat of the wolf incident.

So, naturally, a repeat is exactly what she gets.

There are no howls in the distance heralding its arrival this time, and so Jemma’s completely unprepared when the massive wolf suddenly appears across the clearing from her. It’s the same wolf; she can tell as much from the markings up its neck and along its spine. The creature isn’t growling at her this time, which she’s going to go right ahead and claim as a small victory, but its body language is as aggressive as ever, eyes fixed threateningly on her. Slowly getting to her feet, Jemma gestures to her belt. 

‘Looking for this?’ she calls out.

As soon as she makes the rodent there visible, the wolf does something remarkable: it takes two steps backwards and lowers its head a little. It still looks aggressive, and like it could attack at any moment, but it also… is it standing down?

Jemma’s breath catches in her throat.

_Wow._

Achingly curious to see how this will play out, and yet all too conscious of her tenuous control over this situation, Jemma detaches the rodent and tosses it into the space before legging it up the nearby hill. She doesn’t see what happens next – funny what you’ll miss when you’re running for your life – but what she hears stops her in her tracks.

It barks.

Pausing at the top of the hill, she looks down to see the wolf standing over the small rodent, watching her intently. Again it barks, and she knows, with sudden, unwavering certainty, that it’s barking at her. But the sound is nothing like the howls that haunt her every night in this place. In fact, she’s never heard anything like it. 

Could it be… _thanking_ her?

_What does it mean?_

Then it turns back to its food, and Jemma takes the chance to flee.

 

 

-

-

 

 

Over the course of the next few weeks, the wolf’s visits occur with increased frequency, its body language becoming less aggressive and more open and receptive every time Jemma encounters it. And even though the whole thing continues to end with Jemma running for her life, she can’t help but smile as she goes. 

It’s just… she can’t count it as a friend. She knows that she can’t. In this world – on this planet, or moon, or whatever the case might be – the hierarchy is clear. This glorious beast is the hunter; Jemma is the thing it hunts. And yet, through the myriad challenges she must face here in order to survive, these little meetings are the one constant. They’re the sole break from her new normal of fighting for her life. 

It feels like symbiosis. And that’s more than she’s had in an awfully long time.

So try as she might, she can’t stop herself from eagerly anticipating the creature’s visits. She even goes out of her way to ensure she has a supply of the small rodent scavengers on her at all times.

Purely for her own survival, of course.

(Oh, _God._ She’s in too deep.)

 

 

-

-

 

 

And then one day, the wolf stops coming to meet her. It simply… stops.

Jemma tries not to be disappointed by it; it’s a wild animal after all, and surely it can hunt for itself. Perhaps not those exact creatures (which Jemma suspects to be the reason it kept coming back to see her in the first place) but certainly other fauna on this planet. She knew this would happen eventually.

It was bound to be the end result. Everybody leaves.

Even so, she can’t help but feel her days are a little emptier for the absence. Surviving is a lonely, heavy task when there’s nothing for you to look forward to, and the ever-present ache for her home, her loved ones, ratchets up into overdrive without the near-daily visits. She finds herself expecting to encounter the wolf around every corner, her spirits falling when the creature clearly isn’t there.

 _You’re losing your mind, Jemma_ , she tells herself firmly. _Get it together._

But when she sees the wolf next, she’s waking from her sleep to find it pinning her down with its enormous paws. She barely stifles the automatic scream, instantly freezing.

 _Fuck._ She’s going to die.

Its muzzle is approximately two inches from her own face, and it’s making an urgent whining sound in the back of its throat. Her face is wet from… its saliva? Oh God, it’s been licking her.

_Is it bloody tasting me?_

But the distressed whining continues, the wolf suddenly releasing her so that she can jump to her feet – and yet, it still whines, shuffling its paws and shifting its weight anxiously.

That’s when she hears it: the unmistakable sound of snarling and snapping jaws, and  _close._  

Jemma snaps her gaze over to the wolf’s, seeing the desperate urgency reflected there. She doesn’t hang around to question why this creature would possibly want to warn her of approaching predators.

No.

She runs.

After a few minutes of blindly fleeing, nothing but the haunting sounds behind her and her own tired whimpers to keep her company, she looks up at the adjacent cliff ledge to find the wolf – _her_ wolf – loping along in the same direction. It’s clearly moderating its pace, slowing to stay with Jemma.

 _Is it herding me?_ Jemma has to wonder, half-delirious from the adrenaline in her system. She knows that that’s how pack dogs hunt, and while she’d considered this creature a lone wolf, it’s possible that it’s simply been doing reconnaissance, that it’s now leading her into a place where she’d be more vulnerable to attack by the rest of the pack. 

That’s the logical conclusion.

But the thing is, nothing about this entire situation has been logical. She’s been thrown onto a planet, quite possibly on the opposite side of the universe to Earth, and yet she still survives. Her lungs are able to breathe in this foreign atmosphere – what were the chances of that happening? None of these hounds have been able to catch her yet, and nor have any other predators on this bloody rock.

None of this makes any sense. Logic means very little here, it seems.

So instead, Jemma does what she’s been doing this entire time: she listens to her instincts.

And her instincts say that this wolf is friend, not foe.

_(It warned me. It **protected** me.)_

Shaking her head, Jemma tunes back in to her surroundings, only to find that she’s rapidly approaching a canyon-type space that’s definitely familiar to her. In her periphery, she watches as the wolf leaps down and across, intending to lead her into the narrow gap, but a faint flickering up ahead immediately sets her on edge. She’s yelling out before she even registers what the disturbance is.

_Trap._

‘Look out!’ she cries, slowing to a jerky stop.

Something in her voice must speak to the wolf because it skids to a halt at the sound, circling back around to stand next to her and pin her with an unreadable look. Still gasping for breath, Jemma picks up a hefty rock from the ground by her feet, heaving it forward into the trap region she’d spotted. She and the wolf both watch as an intricate mess of ropes and blades activate, snapping together with a sickening jolt right where they’d been just about to run.

Her blood runs cold, reality setting in.

That would have killed the wolf.

That would have killed _Jemma_.

_(Which of them had it been designed to kill?)_

The wolf stares at her for a long moment, meeting her eyes directly, before turning to run up the next hill instead. It stops few steps before the crest, looking back at her and whining. Its tail flicks almost impatiently.

Jemma blinks.

_Oh._

Springing back into action, Jemma scrambles up after the creature. Once she draws level, it begins to run again, although much slower than Jemma knows it can go. That’s when certainty floods Jemma’s veins.

It’s with me.

_It’s with me._

They run for what feels like hours, the snarling and deathly howls behind them gradually drawing further and further away until Jemma can no longer hear the lethal soundtrack - not unless she strains her ears. She waits for the wolf to slow its pace before she draws to a halt herself, immediately leaning against a nearby rock and attempting to catch her breath. Her eyes flutter shut for a time, all of her concentration going into regulating her breathing pattern.

Then, she opens her eyes. And gasps. 

The wolf is standing right in front of her, mere feet away, and is watching on curiously.

(Screw whatever Skye might say about jinxes – _this_ is miraculous.) 

Meeting the wolf’s gaze, Jemma slowly pushes off the wall and stretches her arms out, hands raised in what she’s hoping is the universal gesture for _remain calm_. Frantically, she racks her brain for any knowledge she might have about wolves. She’d actually had a bit of a wolf phase as a kid, after she’d read _The Call of the Wild_ and took it just a touch too seriously, as kids are wont to do. But she’d borrowed a whole stack of books from the library, hungrily soaking up anything and everything that she could about the creatures. So she knows quite a bit about their behaviour.

Somehow, though, she’s aware that this is different. This isn’t actually an earthly wolf, for starters, despite seeming to resemble one in many ways. Much of its behaviour has already contradicted what she knows, and from this distance she can better observe the alien abnormalities along its back too, reminding her that it’s physiologically different too.

So she’s off-book here, basically.

Still. It's worth a shot. 

‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ she murmurs, taking a careful step closer. The wolf doesn’t change its stance at all, simply regarding her approach with the same guarded interest, so she takes another step forward. 

And another.

And another.

It’s taller than her by a substantial amount, but she notices that it’s holding its head reasonably low. A lone wolf, she guesses again, seeing as it makes no attempt to seem larger than it is. Its body language doesn’t speak to it being dominant. That, more than anything, gives her the idea for what she does next.

( _Bloody hell,_ she thinks, marvelling at her own stupidity. This could get her killed. But then again, she could die at any moment on this planet. All things considered, there are worse ways to go.)

Feeling awfully like she’s in a scene from _Harry Potter_ , Jemma averts her eyes from the wolf’s ( _please don’t eat me please don’t eat me please don’t eat me_ ) and drops her head. Then, she sinks to her knees, hoping against hope that the wolf will read it as a submissive gesture.

There’s a long moment where nothing happens; where the air is so still and quiet between then that Jemma’s convinced that she’s screwed up, that this will be her downfall. Her lips twist up into a wince, and she barely dares to move.

Then the wolf flops down onto its belly, putting the two of them on the same level.

 _What does that mean? Does it consider them equals in some way? Can it even do that?_  

Jemma swallows, glancing up to meet its eyes with no small amount of trepidation. But the wolf is only staring back at her, head level with hers from where it’s dropped itself down, a few feet away from her.

_Well. Alright then._

Inching forward on her knees, Jemma holds her hand out, palm facing the sky and only a short distance from the wolf’s snout. Then, she waits, biting her lip and holding her breath.

_How will this magnificent creature surprise me next?_

The answer, it turns out, is an astounding act of trust. Shuffling forward on its belly, the wolf extends its neck and – holy _shit_ – drops its chin into Jemma’s hand. She scratches a little with her fingers, and the wolf’s eyes half-shut in contentment.

_Wow._

Bringing her other hand up to the wolf’s ears, Jemma scratches behind them, delighting as the wolf pushes its head further into her hand. It leans more heavily into her touch, eyelids sliding shut.

For the first time in weeks, a genuine smile finds its way to Jemma’s face. Some of the ever-present heaviness in her chest seems to loosen.

‘There’s a good dog,’ she murmurs.

She’s overwhelmed at having gotten this far and so she decides she won’t push her luck, settling only for stroking the wolf’s head a few more times before withdrawing her hand. Its eyes open straight away, staring at her with something that looks almost like accusation. She can’t help but huff out a breathless little laugh.

(God. Could the wolf actually be _this_ much of an overgrown puppy?)

Sitting back on her haunches, Jemma quickly scans their surrounds; it’s relatively well covered, with a rocky outcrop curving over into something almost resembling a roof, and it should be a more than sufficient place to spend the night. Legs trembling from exertion, she pushes herself upright, walking the few yards over to the wall before collapsing again.

The wolf waits a few seconds, just watching her, before standing up and padding over to the wall too, dropping down beside her.

Jemma blinks, sure that the awe is showing on her face.

This is happening. This alien wolf is staying with her. It saved her, warning her of the approaching predators, and she saved it from certain death in a trap.

Dear God. They actually _trust_ one another.

Isn’t that something.

Allowing her head to flop back against the rock, Jemma regards her companion for a long moment before feeling compelled to speak.

‘My name is Jemma,’ she says, trying not to feel too ridiculous about the whole thing. She places a hand on her chest. ‘Jemma.’

The wolf watches her, eyes seeming to hold more knowledge than any dog she’s ever encountered back on earth, and she wonders whether or not this creature possesses a greater level of intelligence than those animals. Could it perhaps be capable of more sophisticated communication?

It’s not a question she’ll answer tonight, fatigued as she is, but it’s an intriguing one nonetheless.

‘Do you have a name, I wonder?’ she muses softly, watching as the wolf turns to scan the horizon with sharp eyes. ‘I’ll have to call you _something_.’ 

She ponders over this for the better part of the following hours. Her first thought is obviously Cerberus, for what is this place if not a sort of hell? But somehow it doesn’t feel right for this beautiful creature, with its strange, enigmatic expressions and surprising gentleness towards her. The thought of Cerberus naturally leads her to contemplate Harry Potter for a little while, Hagrid’s curious naming habits springing to mind. The entire exchange earlier had been rather like a Hippogriff greeting, really, so perhaps Buckbeak? Oh, and naturally Clifford should be a contender too, given the sheer size of the beast.

Jemma crinkles her nose at the thought. They’re all good possibilities, certainly, but none of them are quite right.

Then, she thinks of it. A contagious smile creeps across her face as she considers it, growing broader by the second.

_The first dog in space._

Seems perfect for this overgrown space dog. 

Besides: the name means ‘barker’ in Russian, and this wolf quite enjoys making that odd barking noise by way of thanks. It’s only fitting, after all.

Jemma’s smile redoubles.

‘I’m going to call you Laika, if that’s alright with you.’

Laika simply lifts her elegant head, fixing Jemma with an inscrutable stare for a long moment before gazing out at the horizon once more.

Still smiling, Jemma settles back more comfortably against the cliff face, turning her eyes to this foreign sky before her. 

_Laika it is._

 

 

-

-

 

 

Jemma wakes some time in the middle of the night, instantly rolling over when she remembers the company she’d been keeping. But instead of the empty spot she’d dreaded, Laika still sits there, eyes sharp on their surroundings. 

 _Watching out for me,_ Jemma realises. 

Smiling to herself, she allows sleep to claim her once more.

 

 

-

-

 

 

After that, the two of them fall into something approaching a routine. Laika has apparently decided that ear scratches are the best idea that anyone has ever conceived of in the history of the universe, and so devotes a large amount of her time to aggressively head-butting Jemma until she gives in. Some days, the wolf follows Jemma around as she collects various organisms, documenting what she can about them and trying to create some sort of taxonomic system. Other days, the wolf’s ears prick up in alarm and she nudges at Jemma insistently, causing them both to flee well before the far-off wolf cries reach Jemma’s weaker ears.

(She wonders, of course, what this wolf has left behind – where she has come from, and why she isn’t with any of the other wolves. Why doesn’t she have her own pack? But just as she has no idea where Laika’s from, Jemma knows the wolf lacks this knowledge about _her_ , too.

Yet, she still stays. They both stay. And perhaps staying is all that really matters.)

The wolf doesn’t spend all of her time with Jemma, of course, sometimes leaving for entire days at a time. But more often than not, Jemma will find her trotting out of the landscape come nightfall, ready to sit down by Jemma and keep watch while she catches up on some rest.

And at night, when the foreign constellations are at their brightest, Jemma talks.

She talks to the wolf about anything and everything. Sometimes she recalls stories from her childhood, from her college years; other nights, she sticks strictly to the SHIELD years. She speaks of assignments, of downtime; of late nights sharing drinks and early mornings facing the cold light of day. And through it all, she finds that a sort of certainty washes over her. There’s something about giving voice to her story that makes her feel real, even as far displaced as she is. It helps her to ground herself in something solid, something other than her constant fight for survival, and in this world where everything feels surreal and disconnected, she needs it more than she can say.

It reaches the point where Laika’s ears begin to twitch in recognition whenever Jemma mentions the name of someone on the team, and Jemma can never hold back the smile when she sees it.

Some nights, when the wounds are feeling especially raw, she speaks in hushed tones of all the trauma that she’d never allowed herself to unpack back on Earth. It feels like digging into healed flesh for hidden splinters, agonising and relentless, and it’s utterly excruciating but it feels important, somehow. She distantly recognises that she should have done this sooner, that perhaps the pain back home would have been less acute if she’d only addressed it then.

She recognises a lot of things now.

Still, if she’s going to spill it all, she’s quietly glad it’s to this creature, with her lack of judgement and truly exceptional listening skills.

On those nights, Laika lays down directly beside Jemma, allowing the girl to cry into her fur.

 

 

-

-

 

 

(At some point, the thought occurs to Jemma that while she’s grown to look out for someone’s survival other than her own once more, it’s also so markedly different to her past behaviour. She’s aware that she’s historically been atrocious at caring for herself, always putting the welfare of others before her own. Being here has forced her to prioritise her survival in a way that nothing on Earth ever could.

Except now, she’s looking out for Laika too. She has someone else again. But she’s learned that it’s not a matter of prioritising this creature’s survival above her own; it’s about balancing it with her own. Complementing each other to further your collective chances.

It’s symbiosis. And that’s how you survive.

She rather thinks some of the team might be proud of her for this realisation.)

 

 

-

-

 

 

One day, Jemma’s idly sketching angles into the sand with a stick – she’s trying to do some calculations to test a theory she’s been toying with, and she’s really not having much luck – when a snarl tears through the quiet around her. She sits up straight, immediately tense.

That… didn’t sound like Laika?

The very second that the realisation dawns upon her, an enormous – God, _thing,_ an enormous thing with massive fangs and scales and too many eyes is jumping down from a nearby rock ledge, releasing a ferocious cry. Jemma’s screaming before she even knows it, and she’s on her feet armed with nothing but a twig and she can’t get out of this one in time, she knows that she can’t –

Then suddenly Laika's flying in from nowhere, latching onto the beast’s throat with a terrifying growl. Their momentum knocks them off the edge of the rocky landing together, and the beast is screeching in pure rage and Jemma is screaming too, she thinks, screaming out for that thing to leave them, for some _goddamn mercy_ for once, but then distinct fighting noises start up, carrying up to where she stands on the ledge and yet becoming fainter with each passing second.

And Jemma can’t see a thing.

In this moment, standing here with battle cries and the unmistakable sound of flesh being torn hanging in the air, Jemma is certain that she’s never felt more alone in the universe.

 

*

 

It feels like hours later, but perhaps only minutes have passed when Laika finally, _blessedly_ limps back over the nearby hill. Jemma’s on her feet immediately, relief washing over her in a wave _(oh she’s alive thank you thank you oh please thank God oh –)_ but when the wolf collapses on the ground in front of her, Jemma feels that thankfulness drain out of her once more.

Laika whimpers.

Her leg is badly torn up, just above the paw, but Jemma knows that that’s not the problem area – if Laika is anything like dogs on Earth, the leg wound should be fine so long as Laika is able to lick it. The problematic wound is the terrible gash that stretches across the back of her neck, which she’ll be unable to reach on her own. 

Without anyone to tend to it, to keep it clean, it’s likely that Laika will die. 

And Jemma’s not going to let that happen. 

She grits her teeth in determination. 

‘Right. Let’s see what we’ve got for you,’ she states.

Dropping to her knees and digging quickly at the loose top soil, Jemma’s searching fingers find the damper soil beneath – the stuff rich with nutrients. She’s tested it on her own cuts and gashes, and she knows it does wonderfully at drawing out foreign particles, allowing uninfected healing. Will it work on alien wolves?

Glancing up, Jemma’s heart clenches painfully at the sight that greets her. Laika isn’t even able to lift her head anymore, opting simply to rest her chin on the ground as she licks at her paw.

God.

_(This is all my fault.)_

It’s worth a shot, Jemma decides. It’s the only chance they’ve got.

When she begins to smooth the mud onto the open gash, Laika tries to raise her head, whimpering piteously. Jemma’s chest feels impossibly tight, and yet she pushes through it. 

‘Shhh, it’s alright. I’ve got you. I’m here.’

She continues rubbing the mud onto the wound, taking comfort from the fact that Laika is quieting somewhat. Even so, she continues mumbling soothing words, nonsense spilling from her lips and filling the air around them.

(And perhaps it’s mostly lies, but it still strikes a stark contrast to the sounds of death that had soundtracked the rest of the day.)

Once she’s satisfied the wound has been sufficiently covered, Jemma seats herself next to the wolf, one hand stroking the fur on her head. Settling in and swallowing down the dull panic, she prepares herself to keep watch.

Hours later, when the wolf’s distressed breathing has evened out into a more healthy rhythm, Jemma finds her thoughts straying traitorously to the earlier fight. Laika had sprung to her defense without a moment’s hesitation, regardless of the risk to herself.

The guilt settles into Jemma’s chest like an actual physical weight.

(It feels like the aftermath of the pod all over again.) 

‘You didn’t have to do that, you know,’ she whispers, still stroking at the great wolf’s head. ‘I’m… I’m not sure that I’m worth dying over.’

Laika whines, shifting her snout so that she can lick at Jemma’s hand. The gesture is Jemma’s undoing.

Because right now, sitting next to this brave, wounded animal on a foreign planet, Jemma revises her earlier statement: in _this_ moment, this one right here, she has never felt more powerless or alone. The absence of her loved ones, of proper medical facilities and any semblance of safety, has never felt starker, and she feels dangerously exposed.

She’s _so alone._

As night settles in around them, an unwelcome, deadly caress, Jemma finally gives in to the tears that have been threatening for weeks. Her cries echo around the mountains, wretched sobs filled with untold pain and anguish.

(On this night, it will be _her_ howls that keep the predators at bay.)

 

 

-

-

 

 

The next few weeks are rough, perhaps even the roughest since Jemma was thrown onto this desolate bloody rock. With Laika so injured, the wolf suddenly needs to sleep much more than she’d needed to previously. That means that it’s Jemma who’s on the lookout at night, Jemma who’s forgoing sleep to keep watch. When they have to flee, they require much more notice than usual, since Laika’s movements are sluggish and pained. The whole thing requires Jemma to be much sharper than she suspects she’s even capable of being.

It’s the most perilous scenario Jemma can imagine for herself right at this moment, but she’ll take it. She’ll weather it.

She won’t give up on her friend.

 

 

-

-

 

 

Laika’s paw is almost fully healed, the wound on her neck well on its way, by the night the dust storm hits.

Jemma’s been lucky, she knows, to have largely avoided this situation up until now. She’s watched from a distance as the dust clouds have swept across entire regions, but she’s personally always managed to find sufficient shelter before they’ve ever caught up to her. She’s kept a swath of fabric from her blouse sleeve for just such an occasion, figuring she can cover her face with it if need be – perhaps even dampen it. The need has never arisen, however. 

Until now.

The wind has picked up with an alarming rapidity, disrupting the small experiment Jemma’s tinkering with. Almost in concert with the whistling wind, the wolf begins to whine uncertainly. The storm seems like it’s upon them in no time at all, well before Jemma can even begin to make the appropriate arrangements, and she wraps the clean blouse sleeve over her face but there’s no time to find anything else. 

_Oh God oh no oh please no don’t no no no –_

But then Laika simply walks right over to Jemma, nudging her until she sits down next to a rocky outcrop. Sinking into a drop position, the wolf curves her large body around Jemma’s leaner one, creating a shield against the sand and wind.

_Oh._

Jemma’s heart melts, gratitude flooding her.

‘Thank you,’ she murmurs, reaching out a hand to smooth along the top of Laika’s snout a few times. The wolf only lifts her head, curling her body tighter around Jemma’s before dropping her chin into Jemma’s lap.

Huddled together, they wait out the storm.

 

 

-

-

 

 

Laika spends every day with Jemma now.

Jemma wouldn't have it any other way.

 

 

-

-

 

 

Jemma’s just removing the impurities from some dubious-looking water, Laika poking around in the vicinity, when it happens. It’s so faint at first that she thinks she’s imagining things, the wind giving voice to the sounds she’s longed to hear for months on end, but then it becomes clearer, less indistinct, and she realises that this is real.

_‘Jemma! Jemma, where are you? Can you hear me? Jemma? Jemma!’_

This is _real_.

Jemma feels her body seize up from pure shock; at her side immediately, Laika whines, her ears showing her alertness and her hackles raised.

But Jemma would know that rough brogue anywhere. 

‘Fitz,’ she breathes, feeling the life flood back into her body. She turns to the wolf, a wild grin breaking out across her face. ‘Laika, that’s Fitz!’

Some of the tension seems to leave Laika’s posture at that, the mention of a familiar name, but she still looks anxious.

Jemma barely even registers it.

‘He’s worked it out, he’s – I have to go!’ Grabbing her cardigan bag and flinging it over her shoulder, Jemma takes off at a sprint towards the distant yells, footfalls clumsy in her excitement. But she only manages to get about fifty metres towards the sound before Laika comes ambling along next to her, running into her path and planting her feet. 

Jemma stops, worried. Is she…?

Is she stopping her from getting to Fitz?

Not quite understanding, Jemma straightens her shoulders, trying to be as reassuring in tone and body language as possible.

‘It’s _okay_ , Laika. He’s a friend! It’s Fitz,’ she repeats, emphasising the name. Laika holds her eye contact for a long, significant moment, and Jemma’s just about to sidestep the large wolf and continue on towards Fitz’s voice (she doesn’t know how large a window she’s got, after all) when Laika turns around, drops to her knees, and presents her back to Jemma.

_What?_

The wolf looks over her shoulder pointedly, glancing at her back and then at Jemma – _oh._

She – 

She wants Jemma to climb on.

‘Oh…. Are you sure?’ she mutters, wondering how this will even work. She’s ridden horses before; space wolves are a little outside her area of expertise, unfortunately. But Laika ducks her head and makes an impatient snuffling sound, flicking her tail a couple of times and well, alright then, Jemma’s going to ride the alien wolf.

This is surreal.

(But Fitz. _Home._ )

Approaching tentatively, Jemma swings a leg over Laika’s back until she’s more or less seated there. As soon as she leans forward and grabs hold of Laika’s neck, the great creature rises to her feet and takes off at a ferocious pace towards the sound – towards _Fitz_ – and Jemma truly understands, maybe for the first time, the speed and power of which this glorious creature is capable.

It's otherworldly.

_And yet she’s always slowed right down. For me._

The wolf runs faster and faster, seeming to relish in the ability to do so as the landscape flies past. Her paw seems to be giving her no grief at all – there isn’t even a discrepancy in the gait.

Jemma’s laughing now, her mirth mixing with the roaring wind around her and Fitz’s insistent calls, growing louder by the second.

 _‘Jemma? Is that you? Jemma?’_  

Fitz’s voice is louder still. Jemma’s smile hurts her cheeks now, tangled hair whipping around her face.

‘Fitz!’ she answers, now close enough.

‘ _Jemma?!’_

All too soon, Laika draws to a gradual halt and drops down again, apparently deciding that this is their destination. When Jemma climbs off, she’s still laughing – sheer relief bubbling up out of her throat.

‘Yes! Fitz, it’s me.’

 _‘Jemma,’_ his voice croaks in audible relief, and Jemma knows that she needs to get to where he is immediately, every part of her consciousness straining towards him. She can see it up ahead, see where the monolith once stood; there’s an amorphous kind of blackness, shimmering and constantly in motion, and Jemma knows that this is where it ends. This is how she gets home. 

But then, a wet nose nudges her elbow from behind.

Jemma freezes.

Oh no.

_Laika._

(And for all of her various escape plans, Jemma had never once considered having to say goodbye.)

Turning to face the wolf with a sense of despondency, Jemma manages a sad smile. Her chest is impossibly heavy.

‘This is… um, this where I leave, I’m afraid,’ she starts, trying to remain upbeat. Laika blinks big eyes at her, gaze fathomless. Jemma’s throat feels too tight, and without giving it any further thought, she leans in and wraps her arms around the wolf’s neck, drawing her in for a hug.

‘I’ll never forget you, you know,’ she mumbles into the fur of the wolf’s neck. She feels Laika nudge at her head, snuffling. ‘You were all I had. I’ll never forget.’

 _You’re all she has too,_ a voice at the back of Jemma’s head insists.

Biting her lip, Jemma disentangles herself from the embrace, forcing herself to turn away and walk towards the monolith. Laika whines straight away, following her to the entrance. 

Wanting to follow her into the unknown, loyal to her even now. 

_Oh, God._

Jemma stops, unsurprised to find tears wetting her cheeks now, and she reaches out a hand to stroke the wolf’s face.

 _What does she even say? What_ can _she say?_

‘I’m… not sure you that can come too,’ she tries, cringing at how weak it sounds.

 _Why not?_ _Why can’t she?_

‘You might not be able to come back,’ Jemma continues quietly, imploringly, hoping Laika picks up on the urgency in her voice. ‘This is your _home._ I’m not certain we’d be able to open the portal again. What if you could never return here?’

But she only butts her big nose against Jemma’s shoulder, regarding her with wide eyes. Jemma feels her resolve wavering, the possibilities and logistics creeping into the forefront of her mind almost unbidden.

 _Could_ she do it? Could she truly bring this ginormous alien hellhound back to Earth? The atmosphere shouldn’t pose a problem, given her own ease of survival here without physiological adaptation. The wolf’s appearance is undoubtedly an issue, but people have large dogs back on Earth all the time – she’s seen pictures. Surely they could find some way to hide the alien markings?

It’s absurd. The entire thing, it’s just absurd.

But then, so is the notion of a space wolf finding her home in the company of a small human, one that hails from the other side of the universe. And yet here they are, in all of their resplendent absurdity.

So if Laika wants to stay with her, who is she to stand in the way?

It’s as though the thought has opened floodgates of some sort within her, because Jemma feels a bone-deep exhaustion wash over her now. She’s just… she’s so _tired._ She’s so sick of always having to give things up, of having to let her love go again and again for the sake of the greater good. Doesn’t she ever get to keep any of it? Doesn’t she ever get to hold onto some shred of happiness? 

Doesn’t Jemma Simmons ever get to _win_ one, even if it's just the once?

Life is hard – if there’s one thing she can take away from this experience, it’s that life is fucking _hard_. It’s a constant struggle. So if we manage to find something that makes it even the slightest bit less terrible, shouldn’t we prioritise that?

Shouldn’t we?

‘Jemma!’ calls Fitz, interrupting her thoughts and sounding distressed all of a sudden, and she knows that their time is nearly up.

But luckily enough, she’s made her decision.

She can do this.

She knows that she can. If she can survive this planet for heaven knows how long, she can keep her friend. 

She can do _anything._

Grabbing Laika’s head, Jemma forces the wolf to look her in the eye.

‘Are you sure?’ she asks.

By way of response, Laika only pulls her head free and pads towards the opening, slowing once she draws near it and looking over her shoulder at Jemma. It's as though she's waiting for Jemma to catch up, flicking her tail in that way she does when she’s impatient. Despite herself, despite the circumstances, Jemma starts to smile.

Well. 

It seems like Laika wants to go home.

(Oh, God. _Home._ )

Placing a guiding hand on the wolf’s shoulder – and really, _really_ looking forward to the look on Coulson’s face – Jemma steps forward into the blackness.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> \- Please, please, PLEASE do yourself a favour and head on over to my writing tab on tumblr (imperfectlychaotic over there) for a link to Alex's artwork. It's truly amazing. I've literally set it as my phone's wallpaper.
> 
> \- Title is from the song 'Running With The Wolves' by Aurora, which is honestly THE most relevant Jemma song right now and I cannot recommend it enough.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading what was essentially introspective Jemma fic with the addition of a giant wolf!! You guys are the greatest.


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